Each of us has a brain: a soft, convoluted mass of matter located in the skullcap that controls and coordinates mental and physical actions. It causes us to reflect, realize, re-do, and run. And it never shuts off; it simply waits for direction, from itself. My brain is amazing. So I gave it a name: Terry.
Terry has been with me forever. Terry told me a long time ago that I enjoy lying on the couch in the fetal position, oatmeal cookies, and hugs from my mom. He mentioned that my hair definitely looks best cut short and that nobody really believes I’m a natural blonde.
Terry is responsible for my fondest memories and the production and storage of them. Terry remembers where I left my car keys.
Terry contains 100,000,000 cells and weighs about 3 pounds.
Terry recently told me that I should definitely pursue higher education and thought a Masters degree was definitely the way to go. Terry told me that I was wasting my time in Vancouver.
Terry also said that my Bachelor of Fine Arts was actually a “Bachelor of F*@#-all” and that people don’t take you seriously with those letters after your name. Terry said that a Masters degree implies you are Master of something, and that definitely sounds cool.
Terry said that I wasn’t getting any younger and that 30 was never the new 19.
Terry then noticed that the phone never rings, my pants are getting quite tight, I have extremely large pores, and that I no longer have the ability to hold my alcohol. Terry said I made a fool of myself at the pub last night.
Terry laughed so hard root beer shot out his Primary somatic sensory cortex when I told him this joke: What do you call an agnostic crossed with a dyslexic? Someone who lies awake all night wondering if there’s a dog. Terry lay awake all night last night wondering if he was god.
Today Terry went over a few possible career choices with me. He said I could never be a doctor or nurse because I have no bedside manner. He pooh-poohed the idea of manual labour (weak Trapezius and Gracilis muscles), and scoffed when I mentioned my interest in the service industry (“But you hate people”, he said).
Terry said that I’m a decent writer and that I don’t really have a lot of other options because I’m not really good at anything else (except perhaps bowling). He said a Masters in Creative Writing shouldn’t be too difficult for me and offered to help me cheat on exams.
Then Terry said to get off my ass and do something about it- because he’s losing about 9,000 neurons a day. Terry warned that I better not start smoking or sniffing glue because then he’ll lose up to 30 times more neurons. Then I’ll really be screwed.
Terry then said that I should really consider getting a tasteful lower back tattoo.
And I always listen to Terry.